So was I once myself a swinger of birches...

Once upon a time, in an English class I learned and memorized the poem 'Birches' by Robert Frost. I couldn't help but recite the poem in my head as I swung Max back and forth, and back and forth, his squeals of delight in the background.

Oh, how I love this boy.

{Max sound asleep in the hammock}

{Max delighted with the swing that dad put up for him at Grammy and Grandpa's cabin}

"One could do worse than be a swinger of birches."